Before Bedtime
by vietnAMAZING
Summary: Buffy's POV on a lot of things, including Spike at bedtime. Fluff set in mid-season 7. Review, please. COMPLETE.
1. Before Bedtime 1

Another bedtime story. Yes, I know it's been done before, I just think they're brilliant. --  
  
"Close up."  
  
I smile, nod, and switch the light near the register off. I pull my apron dutifully off, and set it in the drawer, where, as luck would have it, someone would take it tomorrow. And I'd have to buy a new one. Again.  
  
"Goodbye, Mark."  
  
"Bye, Buffy. 8 am tomorrow. Before the workers get here. Don't forget, it's your paycheck, not mine."  
  
"I know."  
  
The door shuts behind me, and locks automatically. I walk home, pausing for a moment at the gates to the cemetary, with a gaze towards where I knew Spike would be. 'Back in his crypt. Where he belongs. Right?' Shaking the thought off, I continue home. A few couples were out, smiling at each other, and talking quietly, unaware that the big bad would be out soon.  
  
The falling sun was letting off less and less light. The Double Meat Palace closed early tonight for remodeling. They called me back for a quick shift before I left for good. Then I won't have to buy a new apron, I remind myself. Good. My pace becomes faster as the dim light from the sun burns out. Have to get home, and talk to Dawnie about paying for the T.V. And about Mom.  
  
She'll be pissed for even mentioning it. "Dawnie?" My call echoes through the main hall as I close the door, and walk into the kitchen. "You home?" I pause, looking expectantly at the kitchen door, waiting for it to swing open, and for the young beauty, my sister, to bound in. Nothing. "Willow?" Nothing. "Home alone."  
  
I make my way upstairs, carefully, and open the door to my bedroom. My new bedroom. The one that used to belong to Willow. And Tara. I cast my look towards the carpet, at where the stain used to be. Where Tara's body wasted away. Where she died. And I remember the couch, on that beautiful afternoon with the kids playing outside. Where I found my mom. Who this room belonged to, too A chill runs down my spine as I remember. I hate remembering these things. I'd forget if I could. But I can't, so I won't and I don't, but if I could, I would, but like I said, I can't.  
  
I undress, and stare into the mirror, poring over every inch of my flesh, mine. Every scar, nick and bruise, most will be gone tomorrow. This gift has been given to me, you see, I was born to keep the worlds vampire populous from becoming too high. I'm a slayer. A killer. Death is my gift.  
  
All I really want are my breasts to be more supple, someone to love me, someone to care, someone who'll let me lay my head on their shoulder and cry, and someone who know's it's worth it. Hanging around. Not being gone. Like I was. In that place. It was beautiful.  
  
I tear my gaze from the mirror, and look at the digital clock by my bed. The clock ticks from 9:43 to 9:44. Curfew is in sixteen minutes, Dawnie better make it. Grabbing a towel out of my closet, I wrap it around my nude body, covering the cool flesh, making myself decent. I stand at my window for a moment. It's tiny, not like the one I'm accustomed to sneaking out of. Or was accustomed to. Until she knew, she died, and I started using the front door. Or sometimes the side door. Whatever worked.  
  
Outside the cool breeze engulfs me, wafting through the windows, the sweet spring breeze taking me away. And I notice it. Right beneath the large tree in my front yard, a pile of cigarette butts, belonging to the man who I knew was different, and I knew I'd tell him. One day.  
  
I wonder if Clem is still keeping his place. I wonder if he'll let Spike get his stuff and get out. I remember him sitting helplessly in that basement, and then in my living room, clutching the soft blanket like a child, feeling sorry. About what he did. To the people. To me.  
  
I imagine him letting me cuddle against his cool skin, trying desperately to keep me warm, and I'll smile, wrap my blanket around us, and we'll sleep. The shadows slowly become larger and swallow the last bit of light, and I step away from the window, but I leave it open. Just in case.  
  
The shower is hot, the tiles are cold. I unwrap the towel, and hang it on the rack hanging on the door. I spend twenty minutes in the shower, and I know it must be past ten by now. Dawnie. Where is she? I take a minute to get out of the shower, and watch my clock tick to 10:10. Every minute she's late, I'm grounding her a day. That's ten days. I lay on my bed, letting my towel fall open slightly, pull my comforter up in front of me, letting it's warmth take me.  
  
I close my eyes, and drift off for a moment, before the door opens and shuts, and I hear Willow talking softly to Dawn. "Sorry, Dawnie."  
  
"It's okay, she probably won't be too mad."  
  
I stand, shut my door, and go to my closet. Black, white, purple, white, white, black, white, black, black, black, off white. I decide on black. A turtle neck black sweater, and a pair of loose fitting jeans. I smile at my reflection as I snap my bra on. In a moment of desperation, I snap it back off, letting my breasts hang for a moment, and lift them with my hands. They seem fuller, and I smile, and drape my bra straps back over my shoulders.  
  
The turtleneck hangs loosely, but it's warm, and I guess that's all that matters. I find Dawnie at Willow's laptop, smiling at the page, and I lean over her, looking at it. She was scrolling down a profile.  
  
DaWn SuMmErS--sUnNyDaLe CaLiFoRnIa--Go RaZoRbAcKs!--NuMbA 19!--i LoVe SmItH!  
  
"Who's Smith?"  
  
"No one," she answers, and desparately tries to scroll farther down, where an ad for a site called PORNDELITE was being advertised. I smiled, and she panicked, flicking the mouse to the side, and clicking the banner. The page began to load, and she closed her eyes, flinched and turned away.  
  
"Wow." Willow. She's surprised. "How do they do that?" The cocks her head to the side, and looks impressed. "She must not have a spine, or something." I lift the mouse to close the page, clicking at the X at the left. The page flickers, but does not close. FREE PORN FOR LIFE!, the page boasts, and refuses to close.  
  
"Dammit, Will, close this." Willow steps forward, and Dawn opens her eyes.  
  
"Ohmigawd. How do they do that?!"  
  
"It's amazing, isn't it?"  
  
"Willow!"  
  
"Sorry." Willow mumbles, and flicks the mouse once more, trying to close the page.  
  
I make my way back to my room, without punishing Dawn. I stare at the window, and he's there. He's making his way up the drive, and he look's nervous. I don't know why, he knows I'll let him stay. "Spike," I say, barely audible, but he catches it. He turns to stare up at me from my window, and I don't know why I've called him. "H-hi," I stammer, nervously.  
  
"Hi." His voice crackles, and I feel as if I'll fall into his eyes, their deep crystal blue, that sparkle, even from up here, where I can barely see them. I know when he comes inside, his eyes will dance, and sparkle, and he'll be happy one day. But he can't sleep in the nude like I know he like's too. And I know much more about him than I care to admit. Like I know he keep's a journal. And he still writes poetry. And I know his poetry is pretty good. Actually, it's really good.  
  
I watch him as he stands nervously at my door, and I run down, opening it and staring up at him. "Hello."  
  
"Buffy." I want to take his arms, tell him it's okay, and I want to wrap his arms around me. Please, please, please! But I don't. I invite him in, and take him upstairs, showing him the cot I set up on my floor for him.  
  
"Sorry," I tell him, "It's the best I can do now."  
  
"It's okay. It's just for me."  
  
I want to tell him here, stay in my bed, but I can't.  
  
And now, as I curl up in my blankets, I know he's watching me, and that he'll protect me. "I love you, Spike," I whisper.  
  
"I know," he whispers back.  
  
And I think tomorrow, I'll tell him he can lay up with me, in my bed. 


	2. Before Bedtime 2

This was only supposed to be a one parter story, but I loved my reviews, so I have to continue. I'm not sure I can top chapter one, though, so don't get your hopes up.--  
  
He said I'm beautiful. Me. Come on, me with this nose, and these feet, and my unsupple breasts? He asked me if he could keep his journal next to mine, and I happily obliged. I love to look at his beautiful Victorian manuscript. He frowned when I asked him if he wanted an inkwell for Christmas. He didn't want anyone to know he was still writing. So I smiled. And I kept his secret.  
  
As I make my ways upstairs, I touch the handrail on the staircase with a lighter heart, knowing that Spike knows, but my feet touch the staircase with a heavy soul, not knowing what he doesn't. I can't know what he doesn't, being in his soul and all, which is something I don't quite understand, and I'm not even sure what I am saying now.  
  
I propose to him the idea that we may share a bed. He agrees, and looks ashamed, and disagrees. "I'm good on the cot," he says, his eyes boring into the carpet in my bedroom. He's sorry, I tell myself.  
  
"No," I insist, "it's not right, you're my company."  
  
"I'm your babysitting charge, slayer. Not company, not a guest. I dropped my board in the water, and the chalk all ran. I'm sure to be caned. I can't get it out, not with his help, not with yours, I can't. It's stuck, and I have to buy a new one. You don't understand, I can't live, I live eat and breathe you, slayer, you and my soul, and I can't live."  
  
"Oh, God, Spike, you can."  
  
"I can't, bloody hell, Slayer, can't you see--"  
  
"I see you. I see you're changed."  
  
"I'm not. You can't see him. He tells me--"  
  
"I don't care what he tells you! I don't care about him! I care about you. Please, Spike, it isn't a big thing."  
  
"You don't understand, I'm not Spike. I've been spurned. I'm not Spike. I'm William, you dont understand."  
  
"Okay, Sp-William. I get it, I understand, I do."  
  
"You can't love me."  
  
My soul drops to the ground, my heart hesitates, my lungs stop, and my eyes glaze. I'm dead, you don't understand, I'm dead without you! My heart screams for forgiveness, and you don't understand! I can't talk to you about this, it hurts, I have no one to talk to, and it hurts. It hurts like hell, you don't understand! No one understands me, no one feels like I've felt. I've died and I've lived, and I've killed, and I've slayed, I've been and I've done, but I've never loved like I love now, you simply don't understand!  
  
It's as if he's read my mind, and my hurt, and he let's down his walls, and he feels. And I feel, and we feel together. And we cry together. And we are together, but we are simply alone.  
  
Alone in this world is all anyone can ever be for the rest of their lives. I know, I've been here before, I've lived, and I know.  
  
If there is anything you need to survive, it's love, and mine lives deep inside someone's soul that has been lost for eternities, and found, found for me. I can love him for it, and he can love me, and we'll love each other together, with this invisible thing imbued with all his power. His strength, his feeling. I'd told him he couldn't have because he was a soulless monster. Now he's a man with a soul, and I love him. I love him, and he feels it.  
  
"I can love you. I want to love you. Please, let me love you."  
  
Spike fell onto my bed, and he let his walls down. He let his walls down, and he let me hug him. He let me hug him, and he let me love him, and he gave me him. 


	3. Before Bedtime 3

I'm pretty sure this wil be the last part of this story... Unless I get hundreds of reviews!! Just kidding, though it'd be nice.--  
  
My heart and my soul and my life, I poured it all into this fantasy, all into this imaginary world, only fearing I might awaken. And my worst fear confirmed, I did, and I can't quell the fear that all that I had invested into this was a dream. I try to snuggle into what I think might be his body, gripping at strings of hope that might be his scent.  
  
My blind search turns up nothing, and I sit up to stare at his empty cot. I listen for the sound of the shower, or even sounds from downstairs. I hear the faint voices of Willow and Xander, and the soft cough from across the hall where I know Dawn is taking the advantage of the sunny Saturday. The thought of it all being a dream makes my heart palpitate, and it seems to drop into my stomach, with all the turmoil I've ever known burning into one huge ball of hate and fiery compassion.  
  
As I climb out of bed, I catch sight of him, his knees drawn to his chest, his manly hands hugging himself, holding the white sheet tight around his shoulders.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"I didn't mean to, it was an accident."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I'm sorry, you don't understand."  
  
"I understand! You don't know how well I understand."  
  
I know he's sorry, I know he needs me. I need like him water, like breath, like rain, I need him like mercy... I need him. He's salvation from a cloudy day that I spend at a train station because there's no where else to go, but with him, I always have a place, even if it's still at the bus station, it's different because I'm in his arms.  
  
I sit next to him, and he shares his blanket, like in my dream, and we're quiet together. I'm going to stay and help him be quiet, like before when he asked me. My heart yearned to stay, and I didn't but now I'm doing it over, and I'm going to stay. The cold wall shocks my bare back, but I shrug it off, and lean my head against his shoulder. He flinches slightly, and rests his head against mine, and I can feel his heart smile.  
  
Dawnie wakes up some hours later, and she walks into my room, pajama clad, and smiling at us. "Are you two-"  
  
"No, shh, we're being quiet."  
  
Dawn smiles at Spike. He broke the silence with his beautiful breath and voice with the British accent.  
  
I smile quickly as I remember, the duster in my closet. I'm not quite sure how I got it, it seemed to always be part of Spikes wardrobe, seeing as I rarely find him without it.  
  
Now, as I let my fingers dance over the keyboard of the computer, I stare up at the screen, feeling like an expert, I press enter one last time as I glance back up at the screen again. The page loads and I stare at it, amazed at how much information I could get when I typed "WILLIAM THE BLOODY" with the blinking cursor at google.com.  
  
A bloody horrible poet... Killed thousands of people... Myth says he killed two important women... Myth says he had a girlfriend named Drusilla that was crazy... Myth says he has no soul... Myth says he was a vampire.  
  
"God, myth is so wrong."  
  
And, now, even later, after reading what myth has to say about my William, I feel safe in his arms, and I know I always will. I told him one day, I will again. And I think maybe tomorrow... Tomorrow I'll wake up smiling.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
THE END! I know it wasn't as good as the first one, or the second one. It was actually kind of bad. Truthfully. 


	4. Before Bedtime 4

I lay awake with him beside me, the only sound to be heard was my own breathing. I gave a sigh and put my hand on Spike's shoulder. His skin was cold as ice, but warmed to my touch. I know that soon, to me, and to him, our touches will be familiar, we'll know it as we've known others, and enjoy much them more than we've enjoyed any other touches.  
  
He shifted slightly, and I smiled at him. His sleeping form was tucked comfortably under the sheets, and I let my fingertips dance over the contours of his body, each touch cold, then warm, changing as suddenly as my fingers changed positions. I glanced toward the window where the sun was disappearing behind some clouds, and two birds soared across the span of pink and purple sky. "Almost sunset," I whispered, anticipating the night before us.  
  
Spike moaned and turned, finally resting his head on my stomach. I resisted the urge to kiss his head, resisted the urge to take his hand, resisted the urge to wake him and enjoy his delightful company I yearned secretly to get lost in. And I hang on to whims of my fantasies, those created in my dreams, where he and I are perfect sculptured models of true love... One never before experienced by any living being, one more eternal than eternal life itself.  
  
Our relationship was something I preferred to find myself enraptured in, something we both obviously wanted and needed more than anything... Something that I'll never, not for a split second, regret. I realise this, now as I watch him take deep, unnecessary breaths while he sleeps soundly. I know that for now, I am his guardian, instead of him mine.  
  
I'm responsible for his well-being, and it feels good. I came to the conclusion then, that his kiss is delectable, delicious, and every time he touches me, the feeling in my stomach... that's love... That's the love I dream about. And I can close my eyes and hear the words he said, even the words he will say... and I can have that feeling.  
  
Our love isn't one that makes me weak in the knees, it makes me stronger. It completes me, it completes him. Instead of standing on my own, I'm standing with him, and we are no longer him and me, we are us. It doesn't make my heart palpitate, it steadies me. It doesn't make me dazed, it helps me finally see. It makes us that much stronger, that much better... that much more complete. It makes us a different entity. It makes us love, itself.  
  
Ths is what I'll always have, what I'll always want, what I'll always need...  
  
...especially before bedtime. 


	5. Before Bedtime 5

My happiness was like a force, being pulled from the pit of my stomach. Not a bad pull, actually, a very good pull. I couldn't take the smile off my face, and yet, somewhere inside me, there was a disappointment, a reminiscent let-down. Then I realised. Spike. The tender love he extended to me had been expressed, and he wasn't there anymore. I stood by the window, tipping my face to the sun, soaking in the warmth.  
  
My bedroom still felt and looked very much the same. The curtains billowing with the summer breeze, estranged filtered sunlight, and the overall feeling of emptiness. I've felt and known this feeling before, and have become very good friends with it. But I've got something- someone now, that hopefully will accept my emptiness, accept me and all I am, and have and want me, because that's all I'll ever be.  
  
I am a beautiful person. Or so I've been told. When I'm not with him, standing in a crowded room is like standing in the middle of a cold, desolate wasteland... But being alone with him, in his arms... is like... the only completion I've ever known... and the only completion I ever wish to feel again.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
As I go on, I'll remember the first time he held me, the first time he said he loved me, the first time I said it and meant it... I'll remember being... finally... happy. And instead of breaking the rules to feel alive, I'll remember going to him... and actually needing him... for more than just physical consummation.  
  
I want to know and remember the day.....  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"...you're the one, Buffy, I need you. I need you more than you've ever known... I tried so hard, so hard not to need you... not to yearn for your touch... but, Buffy, it didn't work... I lay awake at night thinking of you... Of what could be if I was a good man... I just want you... to want me... I don't just want you or love you, Buffy, I need you."  
  
"Spike, I..."  
  
"I know you'll never need me... You'll never want me, you're better than me... you deserve more, deserve a real man..."  
  
"Spike, I-"  
  
"Don't even say it... I know you... I'll go." He rose, giving one last longing glance, and turned. He was almost gone when I found my voice again.  
  
"I want you. I need you. And... no matter how hard I try... how long I wait... how often I tell myself I don't, I need you. I want to need you."  
  
The man didn't turn. Didn't speak... And even if I couldn't see them, feel them, or taste them as he could, I knew the tears on his cheeks were as warm and salty as mine.  
  
And that night, I remember that I had never felt so wonderful before bedtime as I had at that very moment. 


End file.
